


A Fondness for Sixes

by coolbyrne



Series: Tinder [3]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 18:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20018875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: Someone's drunken anger sends Gibbs to the hospital. Jack deals with the assailant in her own way. Slibbs.





	A Fondness for Sixes

**Author's Note:**

> I generally don't subscribe to the idea of meeting violence with violence, but I wanted to explore it a little with Jack. I think we all know how Gibbs would react if something happened to someone he loves; I wanted to write a story that would show how Jack might react.
> 
> Though this story only involves the kids in the neighbourhood very briefly, I think it's enough that it's still important to both series.

The chorus of phones beeping and chiming brought out some laughs from the group as they left the conference room for a short break. Cell phone rules had been strict and enforced during the hour-long workshop and Jack wondered if anyone considered the small irony in how many psychologists had unhealthy attachments to their phone. She ignored the fact that she might be among them, considering how quickly she had taken hers out of her bag the minute she stepped into the hotel hallway.

_Call me ASAP._

_Jack, when you get this message, please call!_

_You need to call in, okay?_

Three messages from his three best agents. But none from him. With a dread that began to curdle in her stomach, she hit the pre-programmed number. Skipping over the niceties, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry to bother you,” he said. “I know you didn’t want-”

“Tim. What’s wrong?”

“Uh, first, let me just say he’s okay.”

“Oh God. What happened?”

“He’s in the hospital.” She was already pushing the elevator button to her floor. “He was jumped outside his house.”

“What?”

“About an hour ago,” Tim said, his voice tired and weary. “Two of the local kids found him in his driveway.”

She jabbed the button again and again. “What do you mean ‘found him’?”

“He was unconscious, Jack.”

Her heart dropped. “I’m on my way.”

The brief silence was his brain trying to process her words. “You’re in Baltimore.”

“Yep, and I can make it back in less than an hour.”

“You don’t have to, Jack,” Tim assured her. “I just thought you’d want to-”

“Getting on an elevator now, Tim. What hospital is he in?”

“George Washington.”

“Good. I’ll see you when I get there.”

The elevator door and her determination ended the conversation.

…..

He met her at the hospital with both the need to reassure her and to fill her in on what they knew. She blew into the hallway with a single-mindedness that made Tim glad she was on his side. She clearly hadn’t bothered changing, because she was All-Business Dr. Sloane, all blacks and whites and greys. Her expression was anything but, however. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her so… unravelled.

“Where is he?” she asked, her eyes searching everywhere. 

Squeezing her shoulders, he tilted his head downward until her eyes met his. “He’s fine, Jack. Doctor said they're mainly keeping him for the night to monitor any concussion after effects, okay?" Her nod was more conciliatory than convincing. “Jack.” His voice took on a tone he had long learned from his boss. Her eyes cleared to attention. “He’s fine. I’m going to let you go in and see him, but I just want you to be prepared. It looks worse than it is.”

This time, her nod had more conviction. “Okay. What have you found so far?”

“Just what I told you- 2 local kids found him in his driveway, about 6. Bishop and Torres canvassed the neighbours but no one saw anything. A couple of the neighbours have cameras pointed at their door, you know, for deliveries and things, so we’re hoping one of them has enough of an angle to catch Gibbs’ driveway. I’m going back to the office to go through his last few cases, see if there’s a revenge factor involved.”

Inhaling deeply, she said, “You talk to the neighbourhood kids?”

“Yeah, the two who found him. A Nathan McCormick and a friend, Justin Naismith. The Naismiths were having a neighborhood barbecue. When Gibbs didn’t show up after 30 minutes, the kids went over to see what was taking him so long."

“You didn’t talk to any of the other kids?”

Tim frowned. “No. Just the parents. Didn’t seem to need to talk to anyone else.”

For the first time since she arrived, she gave a soft laugh. “You don’t know these kids, Tim. And you don’t know how protective they are of him.”

He nodded. “I can see that. I’ll go talk to them before I head back.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll go talk to them. They know me.”

Tim didn’t ask how that came to be. He had had his own suspicions for several months now, but knew it would only come out when Jack and Gibbs wanted it to come out. “Whatever you think, Jack.” He squeezed her arms. “You going to be okay?”

“Go, Tim. Find out who did this.”

“Okay. Room 504.”

She watched him leave before jogging to the nearest elevator.

…..

Whatever resolve she summoned in the elevator, whatever calmness she fabricated on her way to the room dissolved the second she saw him. Her gasp caught his sleepy attention and when she saw the blue of his eyes contrast so sharply with the reds and purples that marred his face, she broke into tears.

"Don't cry, sweetheart," he whispered from the bed. Holding out his hand, he said, "Hate it when you cry."

She took his hand and kissed the corner of his mouth, then proceeded to kiss every part of him that wasn’t injured. Her kisses grew to such a feverish pace that he squeezed her hand to slow her down. 

"I'm okay." She didn't relent, almost as if she was on a mission to heal him with her kiss. "Lieutenant." It was that word, sharp and strong, that finally brought her back.

"Who did this to you?" Her eyes roamed his face, the swollen left eye, the gash on the cheek, the split lip. The near hysteria of only a minute before was replaced by steel, the cataloging of his injuries bringing a deathly calm. "Who did this?"

"I dunno." He shook his head into the pillow. "I came out of the house to go to the Naismiths."

"They were having a barbecue."

"Yeah. Got to the driveway and then…" His voiced trailed off. "I dunno."

She gently brushed back a strand of his hair. "What else? Think. You know how this works."

Blowing out a breath, he closed his eyes. "Came from the side. But more to the back. Couldn't see him. Hit me-" He motioned to a spot behind his left ear. Squeezing his eyes tighter, like he could make the memory clearer, he said, "Hit me on the way down."

"Punched you?"

"Yeah. When I hit the ground, he kicked me. Here." He gestured to his cheek.

She gently touched around the stitches. With a detachment that surprised even herself, she asked, "Anything you remember about the footwear?"

"Jack."

"You know how this works," she repeated with frost in her voice.

Clenching his jaw, he shook his head. "No. I had one hand up and the other coverin' my gut. I knew what was comin'."

The idea of him lying on the ground, anticipating the pain that was coming thawed her single-mindedness, and she kissed him again. He laced his fingers through her hair and brought her in tighter.

"Missed you," he said against her lips.

"I only left this morning."

"Still missed you." It took a second for her words to really hit his brain. "You're supposed to be in Baltimore."

"Tim texted me. I came as soon as I heard."

He didn’t say, ‘You didn’t have to’, because they both knew it’d be wasted breath. Instead, Gibbs gave her a gentle push away from the bed and she realized he wanted to look at her. "Y’look nice.”

His tone was low and honeyed.

“Are you getting fresh with me?” she asked.

“They’re my favourite shoes,” he said, no apology in his voice as his fingertips tried to skim her calves.

She rolled her eyes at his intent. “Oh, my God.”

“What’d the doctor say?” He played with the edge of her skirt, pulling her back in.

“Overnight, to monitor concussion symptoms.”

His frown said everything he thought about the decision. “You could monitor concussion symptoms.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got some other things to do, first.”

Her voice had gotten some ice again.

“Let the team handle it, Jack,” he warned.

“Oh, I am. I’m just going to help them.”

Knowing there wasn’t anything he could say to stop her (would it be any different if the roles were reversed?), he slipped his hand under the skirt’s hem and squeezed gently. “Be careful.”

She nodded and lightly kissed him. “When we get home, I’ll play nurse.”

“Wear the heels?”

Only he could really make her laugh in the face of everything.

…..

Tim strode into the office, the question leaving his lips the second he stepped off the elevator. "What do we have?"

"How is she?" 

He knew that would be Bishop's first question. When he told them Jack was driving from Baltimore, the ears of everyone in the Jack/Gibbs office pool perked up, if 'everyone' meant the core 3 plus Kasie and Jimmy. The inter-office bet helped relieve the stress once they knew Gibbs would be all right.

"She's-" He wondered how to put it. "She's Jack. All heart, all fight. She's going back to talk to the neighbourhood kids."

Puzzled, but not taking offence, Torres said, "We talked to them."

Sitting in his swivel chair, Tim allowed himself a small smirk. "Seems we don't know the kids as well as Jack does."

Nick snapped his fingers. "Knew it! Pay up."

"The bet is 'When', not 'If'," Bishop protested. "Betting 'Yes' or 'No' was a gimme."

"So who finds out?" he asked.

The distraction went on long enough. "The real question is, what have we found out about what happened tonight?"

Straight back into professional mode, Nick replied, "Kasie's cross-referencing the cars in the neighbourhood with the cars she was able to catch on the security cameras. Unfortunately, they're mostly directed at the homeowner's door, so it's a pretty narrow view."

"I've been following up on some recent cases," Bishop offered. "Checking for anyone who might have had a grudge with Gibbs. More so than usual." Her teammates chuckled. "Family members, friends, anyone who wanted some kind of revenge."

Nick pressed his lips together and shook his head. "If it was revenge- at least the revenge we're talking about- would you leave him alive?"

They tried to ignore the fact that 'him' meant 'Gibbs'.

"Send a message?" Tim hypothesized.

"To who?" Bishop asked. "And why?"

"That's what we're here to find out. Maybe Jack will have some luck. In the meantime, if we've exhausted recent cases, let's go back to older ones. Torres, take the next year where Bishop left off. I'll take the one after that."

"I got the one after that," Bishop said, and it only took a moment for the office to get back to business.

…..

"Sorry to bother you, Debbie."

The woman on the other side of the screen door shook her head. "No, no, you're not bothering me, Jack. Come in." She held the door open and let Jack pass. "Is he-?"

She knew all too well the fear in the woman's eyes. "He'll be fine," she assured. "They're keeping him overnight. Or at least, they think they are." 

Debbie smiled at the implication. "He'll drive them crazy before the sun's up."

"Definitely." His reputation for impatience stretched well outside the boundaries of work. "I was wondering if I could talk to Nathan. About what happened."

"Sure, but your agents have already been here."

"I know," she admitted, "but I just want to hear it for myself, you know?"

There must have been a slight break in her voice, because Debbie reached out to touch her arm. 

"Of course, Jack. He's in the basement." She led her to the end of the hall where she opened the door and yelled down the steps. "Nathan! Agent Sloane's here to see you."

"Okay, Mom!"

"Boys and their basements," Jack smiled.

"Is it true he's building a boat?"

The debate had reached mythological status in the neighbourhood, and Jack wasn't going to be the one to spill the beans.

"I'd tell you, but, you know the rest."

"Federal agents." Debbie playfully said. "Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"Thanks."

She slowly made her way down the stairs, a trip she made a hundred times in a different house. She half-expected to see a half-built boat at the bottom. Instead, it was a finished basement, with a couple of couches and a small TV, where 2 teens were currently playing a military-type game. Nathan put it on pause and stood.

“Hey, Agent Sloane.”

“After all this time, I think you can call me ‘Jack’.”

“Maybe just not in front of Mom,” he said sheepishly. 

Jack smiled. “Deal. Are you Justin?”

“Yes.” Nathan elbowed him. “Yes, Ma’am.”

The smile grew into a laugh. “Really, ‘Jack’ is fine.”

“How’s Mr. Gibbs?” Nathan asked.

“He’s good. Looks worse than it is. Might have a concussion but he’ll get to come home tomorrow.”

The teen breathed out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. It was… weird, seeing him like that. He’s usually so, I dunno, big. Sounds dumb.”

“Doesn’t sound dumb at all, Nathan. It’s always odd to see someone so strong so vulnerable.” He nodded. “I know you spoke to some agents already, but I wonder if you two could walk me through it again.”

The boys looked at each other and it was silently agreed that Justin would start. 

“My parents like to have a barbeque to kinda say goodbye to summer, you know? And I think they’re celebrating the fact us kids are going back to school.” Jack smiled. “Anyway, it’s for the whole neighbourhood and it’s really cool. Everyone brings something. Mrs. Cromwell always brings her sheet cake.”

“Oh, man, I could eat the whole thing!”

“I think me and you did last year!” They laughed, then Justin nodded to Nathan who picked up the story.

“Mr. Gibbs said he was coming- he promised- and when he didn’t show up at 6:30, I figured I’d go see what was holding him up.”

“Because he promised.” Jack understood the meaning- Gibbs was nothing if his word was nothing.

Nathan nodded. “I didn’t think there was anything wrong, just maybe he was watching the ballgame or something. I didn’t expect-” His voice caught in his throat.

“Just tell me what you saw. Take your time.”

“We came down the street, but didn’t see anything at first, because his truck was in the driveway.”

Justin continued. “When we came around the truck, we saw him on the ground. I took a First Aid course at summer camp so I kinda knew what to do. Checked his pulse right away and it was good. Did a body pat and didn’t find him bleeding anywhere that was dangerous. Didn’t roll him over because we didn’t know if he had any head or neck injury. Airway was clear, so we just called 911.”

The fact that the boys remained so calm comforted her. Knowing they did their best for him almost brought tears to her eyes. “You did great. Both of you did.”

Nathan shrugged, almost embarrassed. “Wish we’d seen who done it.” His face grew stony hard. 

“What did you see?”

The teens looked at each other again, hoping they could prompt a memory from each other in some way, but she could tell there was nothing. 

“I’m sorry,” Justin said. “I was more worried about him.”

“Didn’t even think about looking around,” Nathan admitted. “It’s weird, but I felt like, if I looked away, something might happen to him.”

She rested a hand on his arm. “He’d be so proud of you.”

“You sure he’s gonna be okay?”

“I’m positive. I promise.” 

Though they didn’t know her as well as they knew Gibbs, she hoped her word meant something, too.

…..

“Mr. Pearson?”

“Yeah.” It was a statement and a question.

“I’m Jack Sloane. I’m-”

“Jethro Gibbs’ girlfriend. C’min.” 

She wasn’t sure what she thought of the label. It was something she’d have to consider later, when she could go over the implications without worrying about anyone seeing her blush.

“Thank you. I just wanted to let everyone know he’s okay.”

“A bullet couldn’t put that ol’ dog down,” Pearson grinned. “Still, it’s good to hear.”

“I know this is going to sound odd, but do you think I could talk to Danny?”

The question twitched his eyebrows up. “Danny? Can I ask what for?”

She knew it must’ve seemed out of the blue. “I know agents have been around talking to the adults about what happened. But it’s been my experience kids often see much more than we give them credit for.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, agreeing with a nod. “You have no idea how hard it is to hide Christmas presents from that little bug.”

“I bet.”

“Hold on a sec.” He twisted his body up the stairs and called out, “Danny! Someone’s here to see you.”

“Coming, Dad!” The shout got closer as the footsteps got louder. He was halfway down the stairs when he saw her, and stopped dead. “Hi.”

She knew he had a soft spot for her and she found it much more adorable than Gibbs did. “Hey, Danny.”

He looked at his dad, then back to her. “Is Mr. Gibbs okay?”

“He’s got some bumps and bruises, but he’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Oh, good!”

“I wonder if I can ask you about what happened.”

“I saw a car!”

“That went quicker than I thought,” she said, almost under her breath. “What kind of car, Danny?”

“Hold on.” He stomped up the stairs and over their heads, then came back again, this time, brandishing a piece of paper. “I drew it. Agent Gibbs said to always put down all the information straight away.”

Jack took the paper and she blinked several times to make sure she was seeing it right. “You got the license plate?”

“Me and Hayden and DeAndre were running around Mr. Naismith’s house with our water guns. I saw a black car drive by, so we crouched down behind the bush and watched. I saw him hit Mr. Gibbs.”

“Hey,” she said, coming close to console him. With her hand rubbing his back, she praised, “You did amazing! Look at this! No one else in the neighbourhood saw anything. You probably solved the case.”

“Really?”

“You did really good, son,” his dad said proudly.

“I’m a Junior Probie!”

The older man frowned. “A what?”

He pulled out a black leather case that looked suspiciously like Gibbs’. Flipping it open, he proudly showed off his identification, complete with a badge. Jack wondered where Gibbs had dug up the defunct badge and bet money Tim did the mock-up I.D.

“Junior Probation Officer,” Jack clarified. 

“Agent Gibbs said when I’m old enough, I can get a promotion.”

Jack held up the drawing. “Sweetheart, after this, you might get the promotion before you know it.” She hugged him tightly and heard him whisper, “Wow” against her shoulder.

…..

She ordered the team home, texting Tim that she had a lead they could explore in the morning. Covertly, she contacted Kasie and when the woman sent her what she had found, she could have hugged her for her diligence. The final job on her list was calling Marcus Briggs.

It didn't take much to find Kurt Graham who, according to fellow agents, was a mainstay at the nearby pub. Sure enough, he was leaning heavy against the bar and using his badge to impress some women at a nearby table. Jack could barely contain her revulsion and rage as she approached him.

"Hey," she cooed, plastering a smile on her face, "let's get you out of here."

His leer trailed her body from head to toe, right down to the shoes Gibbs admired so much. The contrast between his heated desire and Graham's lecherous ogle was like night and day and it made her nauseous. 

He stood at her invitation. "Where're we goin', baby?"

A sober man would have seen the ice in her eyes. "Does it matter?"

His grin was sloppy. "As long as it's with you?" He shrugged and let her take his arm to lead him out of the bar.

…..

That was 2 hours ago.

She had half-dragged him back to NCIS under the pretense of seduction, though she didn't have to try very hard. When they got to the interrogation room, he smirked about the camera which she coyly assured wouldn't be a problem.

Then he promptly passed out.

Marcus had chuckled from the darkened corner of the room, but went back to whatever game he had been playing on his phone. Jack sat in stoney silence, even as the agent across the table finally came to. She poured him a coffee from the thermos Marcus had brought.

"Drink." It was an order, not a request. Graham was still too foggy to realize the difference.

"Guh!" he said, jerking his head back when the bitter black hit his tastebuds. 

Unsympathetically, she pushed across a bottle of water and a Tylenol. 

"Believe me, you're going to need it."

Something in her voice finally cut through the haze. Looking around to get his bearings, he spotted Briggs in the corner. The alcohol, the room and the company of both Jack and Briggs caused confusion to streak across his brow.

"What's going on here?"

Rather than answer his question, she said, "You know, I thought maybe you went to the bar after to celebrate, but the bartender said you were there at 5:05, left, _then_ came back. So did you have to give yourself some liquid courage beforehand?"

His brow remained furrowed, but a flicker in his eyes gave him away. Still, he feigned ignorance. "Before what? Celebrate what? No idea what you're talking about, Jacqueline."

"That's 'Agent Sloane' to you." She held his gaze until the smirk faded and he looked away. Again, instead of answering his question directly, she flipped open a folder and lifted 3 photos, placing them in front of him, one by one. "People are so paranoid about home security these days."

He glanced down, pressed his lips together and shrugged. "What am I looking at?"

"Black Dodge Charger." She rattled off a licence plate. "Registered in the company expenses under your name."

"Is it?" He squinted at the licence plate. Pointing to the picture, he facetiously asked, "Is that an S or a 5?"

She grabbed his wrist, pressing her thumb into the pressure point at the base of his. She held firm as he tried to jerk his hand away.

"I set the arm hang record at Fort Benning," she informed him. "Know what the secret is to a good arm hang? Gotta have a good grip." She watched him twist under her hold, unsuccessfully trying to break free, until she all but threw his hand to him. As he continued to grimace, she said, "Was it because I turned you down?"

Though he refused to admit specifics out loud, he gave up the pretense. 

"Fucking Gibbs. The man, the myth, the legend," he all but sneered.

She looked away to try and gather a calm, thinking about the man in the hospital bed. Torn between quiet and chaos, she said, "It has nothing to do with fucking Gibbs, literally or figuratively. You asked. I refused. That should've been the end of it." She shook her head. "But you just couldn't let it go, could you? Couldn't take a woman getting the better of you, _especially_ in front of an audience." Sitting back, she analyzed the face she wanted to slap. "I suppose I was lucky- statistically, you were more likely to break into my apartment and rape me."

A low displeased grumble came from the far corner.

"Didn't feel so lucky when I saw Gibbs, though." It was the first time her voice went soft. It was a flash, then it was gone. "I'm going to give you one chance to tell me exactly what happened."

He shrugged but didn't meet her eyes. "I dunno what you're talking about."

It wasn't any less than she expected. "That's the story you're going with?"

"That's the story my lawyer would tell me to go with."

She pressed her lips together and hummed. "What do you think we'd find if we sent your shoes in for testing?"

"I'd think you'd need a warrant first."

She nodded. "True. But let's be honest, I'm not here to arrest you."

"So why am I here?"

Leaning on her elbows, she very quietly said, "Consider this a courtesy, Agent Graham. You come near me, my team, or anyone I love ever again, I will kill you." 

His derisive snort had her standing so quickly the chair slid out from under her and clattered against the wall. She grabbed his jaw with the same iron grip she had used around his wrist, her thumb and fingers squeezing either side of his face. Marcus took a step forward, though his concern for her was unnecessary. 

With a calmness that severely contrasted her actions, she repeated, "I will kill you. Blink twice if you understand." When he did as he was told, she pushed his head back and sat down.

"You should be more careful, _Agent Sloane_." He emphasized her name mockingly. "Someone's always watching." 

Briggs had finally had enough. "Man, you should learn to shut the fuck up."

"No, it's okay, Marcus," she assured the big man. "Agent Graham's just concerned that this meeting is being recorded and he doesn't want me getting in trouble, isn't that right?" She offered a smile. "But it's fine. Don't you remember when we first came into this room, Agent Graham? You had your tongue in my ear, remember?" Her smile remained, but there was no joy in it. "You were worried about the cameras and I said they weren't a problem. _Remember_?"

His eyes slowly looked up to the corner. The red light that indicated the camera was recording wasn't on.

"There it is," she whispered upon his discovery.

Graham snorted again, though nothing about him held any confidence. “So what? You’re going to rough me up? Teach me a lesson? What?”

“Me? No. We’ve already seen how you react when a woman hits you. No. _I’m_ not going to rough you up.” She slowly, purposely turned her head to Marcus, then tilted it in Graham’s direction. Collecting the photos, she tapped the folder on the table, stood, and slapped Graham’s shoulder like they had just shared a joke. “Remember what I said.”

Marcus stepped into the harsh light of the interrogation room, methodically pulling his hands into leather gloves. “These Damascus gloves are _the_ shit, man. Gonna be a shame to ruin them, but eggs and omelettes, right?”

“Eggs and omelettes,” Jack repeated. Gently squeezing his arm, she whispered her warnings and her thanks before walking out of the room.

Graham’s eyes went wide and wild. “What’d she say?”

“Told me not to make a mess of the room.” He laced his fingers together, making sure the leather was tight. “Didn’t say anything about your face, though.”

…..

She had gone back to his house and ran the shower as hot as she could, scrubbing away the night's events before going back to the hospital. The adrenaline had gone, replaced by the exhaustion of the day and the safety of his hoodie, which was why she was curled up on a chair she had dragged over to the bed, her bare feet peeking out from under her sweatpants. She hadn’t been dozing long when she felt a light tapping on her pink toenails.

Without opening her eyes, she murmured, "All this time I thought you were an ass man."

His chuckle was a balm to her soul. 

"I _am_ an ass man," he replied. "Just so happens I like the feet and the legs attached to that ass."

A sleepy grin formed at his honesty. "Good to know."

"What're you doin' here?"

"The ass isn't going to bring itself. I see your eye roll." Her eyes were still closed. Succumbing to his questioning and the realization that she didn’t really want to sleep in the chair anyway, she yawned and stretched, her feet resting on the edge of the bed. "We got the guy. Wanted to be the one who told you."

He was quiet for a minute, then asked, "What did you do, Jack?" 

It was a question filled with a number of implications, just as he intended.

"I find it interesting that’s your first question, not 'who is it?'"

"Does it matter?"

Rolling her neck, she enjoyed the satisfying crack before replying, "It's someone you know."

This got his interest, and his eyes went crystal sharp, wordlessly prompting an answer.

"Kurt Graham."

The name brought a frown. "'Teeth'?"

Her lips twitched despite it all. "I believe his friends call him 'Smiles'. Though that might be ironically for a little while."

"What did you do?"

"Oh, _I_ didn’t do anything. We all know he can't handle a woman getting one over him."

The pieces were falling into place. "This is because you broke his nose 3 months ago?"

“Broke his nose. Fucking you.” The mindless especially of what Graham had done, and the thought of how differently it could have turned out made her cover her face. “I'm sorry," she said, under the veil of her blonde hair.

He wasn't about to talk about rules when she looked so upset. "For breaking his nose or for fucking me?"

A shaky laugh spilled from her lips. She gestured to him in the bed. "This is my fault."

He ran his fingers over the top of her foot and around her heel and up her calf. "Hey. I'm never gonna be mad at you for defendin' me. Look at me." He waited until she obeyed. "And it's not your fault Graham’s an asshole."

She grabbed his hand, finding strength from him even from a hospital bed. "Your stubbornness has a positive outcome. Because you refused to file a police report, there won't be any connection between what happened to you and what happened to Graham. Not officially, anyway."

"Leon?"

"He doesn't know. Haven't told the team, either, though they're pretty smart, and when I tell them it's been taken care of, I'm sure they'll dig until they find out."

"Who does know?"

She pondered the question and the ramifications of the answer. "You don't need to know. You shouldn't know."

"Jack," he said. Her eyes betrayed nothing, but his instincts were too good. "Marcus Briggs." When she didn't reply, he continued, "No witnesses?"

"NCIS interrogation room, and I learned from a master how to keep that kind of _questioning_ quiet."

"Security?"

"Stop it." Her voice bit out the two syllables. "They're not keepers of the goddamn realm, Gibbs. Besides, give me _some_ credit, would you?"

The emphasis softened his interrogation. "You deserve all the credit, sweetheart. I'm just tryin' to cover your ass. I'm kinda fond of it."

The humour took some of the sting out of her tone, and the hardness in what she was about to say came from a different place. "Never doubt for a second that I won't do _everything_ in my power to cover your ass." She didn't say words like 'retribution' or 'justice'- she didn't have to, because her eyes, full of fire and emotion, said them for her. She leaned forward and her lips met his fingers halfway. "I've grown awfully, awfully fond of your ass, too."

He took a moment to let her words wash over him. What she didn't say hung in the room, her conviction giving him a comfort that surprised him, a balm in his life he hadn’t felt in years. He slipped his fingers from her hand and stroked her cheek. 

“Break me outta here, Jack.”

His words were so quiet, so pleading, that the laugh that tickled her throat was replaced with gentleness. 

“You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question- she knew if he said it, he meant it. Kissing his palm, she said, "Okay."

Though he, too, took her at her word, the quickness in her agreement caught him off guard. "Really?"

She looked at his face, full of surprise, marred by bruises. The things that got him there, the things she did in return balled up bile in her stomach that she forced down by falling into blue eyes. "Really." Slowly standing with a stretch he admired, she said, "But let me talk to the nurses before we plot the great escape."

He reached out for her hand before she could leave. "You're positive it was him." He didn’t doubt her abilities, he just needed to hear it from her.

"I was given a drawing of the car, licence included, by your Junior Probie."

Mouthing the term, he didn’t even finish it when he grinned. "Danny."

"Yep," she replied, basking in his smile as she always did. "You'll have to go see him tomorrow. He was worried about you. We all were."

He made her come closer so he could pull her down to his mouth where he kissed her, hard and sure. He wanted nothing more than to be home, with her. “Talk to Nurse Remy,” he suggested against her lips. “Think she’s sweet on me.”

“Only because you’ve barely been awake.” She barely dodge a retaliatory pinch with a laugh.

“Your bedside manner needs some work.”

“Don’t worry,” she soothed, “when we get you back into our bed, my manner will improve.”

He caught her use of the possessive pronoun. Not ‘your’, not ‘my’. ‘Our’. She must have caught it, too, because she glanced down, slightly embarrassed by the slip. 

“I’ll go see if I can find that nurse of yours.” 

She was nearly at the door when he finally found his voice. “Sloane?” 

There was a kind of irony in how he used her surname in his most vulnerable moments. Turning at the name, she tilted her head to encourage him to continue. Struggling to put feelings into words, he simply said, “I got your six.”

She accepted all he left unspoken. “You mean, you’re _watching_ my six.”

He appreciated the humour and volleyed it back. “I said I’m fond of it, didn’t I?” 

…..

-end.


End file.
